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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588179">Art Tutor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linksore41/pseuds/Linksore41'>Linksore41</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Clone High</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, Fluff, M/M, Please have mercy, is a bit ooc, this is my first fanfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linksore41/pseuds/Linksore41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>JFK seems to be failing art class. It isn't until his teacher recommends him to the quite short and anxious artist, Van Gogh, that he begins to feel inspired. From Van Gogh's perspective, JFK just seems like another loud obnoxious jock who was unfortunate enough to be "assigned" for him to help. He may or may not have a crush on him but he's a pessimistic guy by default. Why on Earth would JFK return such feelings anyways?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>JFK/Van Gogh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm not sure what you expected but if you think that you're going to end up passing this class with this many absences, you're sorely mistaken."</p><p>As the teacher and he both stand in the art room. JFK tries his best to retort. "I can er, uh, explain..." truth be told, JFK could not.</p><p>Sure, when he was singing and recording another album, that was considered art to him. Paper and pencil though? Having to use the endless amounts of paints to create anything decent for class? It didn't come as easy to him as it did to anyone else. All he could manage to do was stick figures and even that was a debatable skill. Because of that, he hasn't felt much like trying. Guess his spree has come to an end. </p><p>"If you got nothing to say for yourself then at least allow me to try and help."</p><p>"You'll do that...?"</p><p>"Well, this is a high school filling with clones of historical figures. I'm sure you can find an artist who can motivate you but if you need somewhere to start, I suggest talking to Van Gogh."</p><p>The school bell rings out, signaling the end of the passing period. Thankfully JFK has lunch next. As long as he can grab a sandwich, he'd be fine trying to spend his time finding this Van Gogh classmate. The name sounds oddly familiar but all he could picture off the top of his head is a short redhead. Other than that, he didn't much to go off of. </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>- JFK -</em> </strong>
</p><p>The talk has definitely left me feeling frustrated. With one final warning, I say goodbye to the teacher and leave. I head towards the cafeteria, hoping to find someone like Gandhi. More likely than not, he might know where this artist guy is.</p><p>Instead, as soon as I turn the corner of the hallway, I bump straight into someone, enough to knock them off their feet. Pencils scatter on the floor, along with a sketchbook that managed to fly out of their hands. An audible gasp echo in the mostly empty hallway. Opening my eyes, I look down to see a pretty short guy in a long dark blue coat with a yellow undershirt, but the thing that catches my eyes the most are the red bands slightly hidden behind white bandages. </p><p>Without thinking much, I call out. "Watch where ya' going next time, will ya'?" I didn't mean to come off as rude, but I am in a bit of a hurry.</p><p>The guy flinches upon noticing me and avoids any eye contact as he gathers all the fallen materials from the floor. Closely, I could almost hear the small murmurs of apologizes as the clone does so. Seeing how frantic he is, snatching in just as much of a hurry, I sigh. Kneeling, I lift the large sketchbook. The least I could do was help before running off. </p><p>On the cover of the sketchbook, written on large ink is the name: Vincent Van Gogh</p><p><em>Shit.</em>.. "You're that er, short guy from the track meet! No wonder you look so familiar."</p><p>Van Gogh's eyes widen in surprise. "I didn't think you'd notice me." </p><p>I lean forward, towering over the guy to hear him better. I could tell the guy was pretty shy-looking, but he should at least raise his voice a little more. Might as well be mute with the way he is. Now that I take a closer look through, I immediately remember. "Damn, must've slipped my mind at some point. Can't forget that riot though. You must have been pretty into it, ripping that uh, stop sign and breaking into that store."</p><p>"Aha, that was a little embarrassing though... Got carried away with the crowds and all." his face brightens, turning just as red as his hair.</p><p>"Uh anyways," I'm not sure why but my nerves started to get to me. It wasn't easy asking for help, especially for something everyone else seems to get. Fidgeting a little with the sleeve of my red and white shirt, I continue. "I was actually trying to look for you. I was wondering if you could er, uh teach me art stuff." I gesture with the sketchbook still in my hands, finishing with a convincing smile. </p><p>It must have been a regular question to Van Gogh though because he sighs heavily, looking a little bothered. "If you're thinking of copying off from my assignments, then no. You're not the first to ask."</p><p><em>Well, that's pretty blunt </em>but a Kennedy does not back down. I kneel to the other's level, pleading loudly. "Please, you gotta! I'm gonna fail if I can't make anything. I promise, my uh, art will be 100% authentic, Kennedy made. All ya' got to do is teach me how. Please!" I drag out my words, sounding desperate enough for a chance. </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>- Van Gogh -</strong> </em>
</p><p>All I wanted to do was spend my lunch period in the art classroom. There were many shelves filled with books of references and most specifically, those of the original Van Gogh. If I could take the time to borrow them, quietly reading, then maybe I could come close to being proud of the work I create. I didn't think it would be interrupted by a tall and loud classmate of mine. Of course, I knew who he was in an instant, I just didn't think I would be smacking into him after trying to rush myself. I often attended basketball games and watched the team practice. Not only was it pretty peaceful behind the bleachers to catch up on new books and doodle in my sketchbook, but I also got to see <em>him</em>. Always joking around with teammates, having fun, always managed to be surrounded by friends too...</p><p>There was no hatred nor jealousy in the way I saw him. In fact, it's the complete opposite. The only problem was that there was never an opportunity to talk until now...</p><p>Having a popular jock begging on his knees was not something I wanted to be caught with though, especially when I was already exhausted by the dramatic cries for help. I immediately cave in, my favoritism kicking me for not accepting sooner. Besides, the strange glances we were getting from the passing classmates were starting to make me a little anxious. "Alright, alright, I'll do it! J-Just stand up already and stop being so loud. There are people everywhere." I'd rather not cause a big scene but it did feel somewhat nice, seeing him acknowledge that I have some skills in the arts, enough that he would ask in the first place. I truly didn't think he would come to me.</p><p>Yes, I may or may not have some feelings for the taller jock but it's not like I'm going anywhere with this. All he's doing is asking to spend time with me, possibly alone together...</p><p><em>Wait, no!</em> my wandering thoughts are interrupted as JFK stands up again. Winning easily in the argument causes another smile on the jock's face. His eyes brighten. "Cool! See ya' later, tiny man." </p><p>Even if I went down easy, I still can't allow any real cheating. "But remember, fully authentic. I already have enough on my plate, I don't want to get into any trouble." running my hand through my hair, I already feel my worries settling in. I know nothing about teaching people. Art always came naturally for me, considering it's in my blood, but it's so often that I felt discouraged by my own creations. What would I say? <em>Prepare for disappointment, there's going to be a lot of it?  </em>Alright, maybe not exactly that but I do need to come up with something, anything for inspiration. Otherwise, there's bound to be disappointment.</p><p>Looking up at JFK, those worries only begin to swarm. </p><p>
  <em>This is an instant regret though, isn't it?</em>
</p><p>"C-Can I get my sketchbook back? We can talk later but lunch is almost over." I stuff my pencils into my coat pocket as I'm handed back my book. Relief washes over me as the pages seem to be intact. The cover is a bit dirty but no major damage to the drawings I keep inside. "Thank you, JFK," I mumble back, awkwardly. Can't even begin to look him in the eyes either... <em>damn it. </em></p><p>The bell rings yet again, and we pass each other, going to our separate classes. </p><p>I clutch my stomach as it growls hungrily. I let out a heavy sigh and ignore it, not believing what just happened. </p><p>
  <em>This better be worth it...</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Grassy Knoll</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>JFK and Van Gogh eat at the Grassy Knoll restaurant as they discuss art. Of course, the latter does end up a little disappointed...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>- Van Gogh -</em> </strong>
</p><p>During the remaining classes, I couldn't stop fidgeting in my seat. I'm distracted by JFK's words from before. My mind is practically buzzing, so much that I could hardly focus on the lessons.</p><p>
  <em>This doesn't mean anything. He's just looking for an easy grade. Just stop thinking about it already.</em>
</p><p>Besides... JFK might not even swing <em>that way.</em> He's always been a very macho womanizer, so what would he want with someone like me? I shouldn't have anything to look forward to. </p><p>Confirming that one thought in my head, I try my best to pay attention to the current lesson. School sure was boring when it wanted to be.</p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>By the end of the last period, my notebook is more filled with sketches and doodles rather than actual notes. Well, that's nothing new but I could ask around if we have any new assignments I might have missed.</p><p>Checking my phone, I can already see a couple of messages sent from Joan and Julius. It's mostly the usual, talking about homework and other projects we have due soon. After the whole fiasco with the teen crisis hotline, Joan and I started talking a lot more and managed to become pretty good friends along with Julius. I don't usually like to think about that night, considering the reason why I called in the first place but I did end up with a friend by the end of it. We actually had a couple laughs over the fact that my foster parent drove me over to the house party in order to exact my revenge that night. I didn't tell them the exact reason why but they were excited about me being social, knowing that I hardly go out much.</p><p>Surprisingly enough, the mural I painted of Gandhi did seem to be one of my greater works. Not sure if the original Van Gogh would be proud of it though... He doesn't seem like the vengeful type.</p><p>Damn, I don't think I even had the time to mention what happened during our lunch period though. I mean, it's not particularly big news other than the fact that JFK spoke to me first, choosing me to help him with a subject I thoroughly love. God, I only hope they don't egg me on to do something embarrassing to have him notice me more... It'd be just like them to do so. Regardless, I shoot a quick text notifying them. </p><p>I head towards my locker, debating on which textbooks to take home before I stuff them into my bag. I sling my heavy backpack over my shoulder, ready to go home already. The locker slams in my face though, nearly making me jump from fright. The one who did so is none other than JFK, the reason why I couldn't function properly today. Does he actually want<em> to talk to me again?</em></p><p>"Hey, Vinnie!" He exclaims loudly.</p><p>"Huh, me?"</p><p>"Yeah, unless ya' want me to call ya' short stack or somethin'. I'm very uh, flexible with names." He leans against my locker, grinning quite like an idiot with his arms crossed. "Anyways, I was wondering. Would ya' like to come with me to the Grassy Knoll? I can er, uh drive us there."</p><p>I blank out, maybe for a second, but who can blame me? <em>I-Is he asking me out to that restaurant, the one that practically everyone hangs out at? We'd be seen and- </em></p><p>JFK notes my reaction and waves his hands defensively, settling one on my shoulder. "No pressure or anything though, seriously! It's just that, we both kinda skipped lunch. I don't know about ya' but I'm hungry and well, I'm willing to er, pay for us." I almost back away from the touch but his hand, it really doesn't do much to calm my nerves down.</p><p>"Sure, let's go!" I blurt out without thinking. I mentally kick myself for being too overenthusiastic yet again.  </p><p>"I like your excitement, Vinnie! You've been there before?"</p><p>"Y-Yeah, I go there sometimes with my friends."</p><p>
  <em>Okay, maybe this won't be so bad. He's the one asking me out, not in that way, but it'd be rude to decline. I can't just back out now.</em>
</p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>As the final bell rings, The usual bustle of classmates fills the hallways. Staying close to his side so I don't lose sight of him, JFK and I leave through the main school entrance together. As we head over to the side of the parking lot, I spot his red and white convertible. </p><p>Again... I can feel the stares of passersby burning at the back of my head as we get on. Of course, people would. I'm practically a nobody, usually overlooked, hanging out with one of the most popular guys at Clone High. We just don't mingle and yet, here we are. The overwhelming feeling fades as I hop inside the passenger seat, sitting so close to JFK. Despite my thoughts from before, I can't help the bubbling feeling of joy.</p><p>JFK starts up the car and pulls out of the lot. To combat the silence, I'm thankful that JFK blasts some music over the ride, even more so as he starts singing along with the rhythm. He really didn't seem to mind that I was listening, quietly humming. In fact, he encourages it with a wink, nudging my shoulder as the chorus comes. I shake his hand away, knowing I have a terrible voice. </p><p>Before, I could only imagine what it was like to talk to and hang out with JFK. He was always more interested in sports or arguing with his friends about any drama that comes up. Even when I joined cross-country, I wasn't fast enough to catch up to his speed. He was one of the best, while I was usually second to last on the team. It was no surprise but my nervewracking thoughts usually stopped me from starting up any conversations at the time. I always managed to stay on the sidelines of his attention but not anymore, I guess. Is it too much to hope at this point though? <em>That afterward, we'll get to do this again?</em> </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>Entering inside the restaurant, I cling to my backpack and choose a small booth by the side. JFK asks what I wanted. He probably couldn't tell through my mumbling, but nods anyway and says he'll be right back. Sitting down, I let out a heavy sigh and settle in. Taking out my sketchbook and pencils, I think about what we could possibly work on first. When it comes to art, there's just so many mediums to choose from. The one I could teach best though is painting... If he doesn't mind such a mess. It could work but I'm cautious about letting him near my own supplies, especially since they're pretty expensive to get. </p><p>After a couple of sketches in, I notice someone standing next to me, peering at the pages. I hide the sketchbook, holding it close to my chest as I look up to see JFK with the food. "An artist doesn't appreciate a person staring at them." Even if I do have a favoriting crush towards him, I don't feel too comfortable sharing any measly doodles with him. </p><p>He sets the food down. "Sorry, it's just that, your art looks so uh, great. I couldn't help it if you're super skilled at it." A bright smile makes it's way on his face as he sits next to me. I ignore the compliment, hiding my blush as he brushes up next to me. He reaches for his drink. "Now uh, how do we start with this art stuff, Vinnie?"</p><p>Before he could take a sip, I grab his soda, setting it down elsewhere. "first of all, nothing like <em>this</em> near the pages. I don't know how clumsy you are but I really don't need a spilled mess. Second... I want to ask something of you." I hesitate a bit, rethinking, but it would clear things up. "why did you come to me of all people? I'm hardly even noticed by many people, so..." </p><p>"Oh, that's easy! the teacher told me about ya'. I just er, uh needed to raise my grade for art"</p><p>"I-Is that really all?" I stumble on my words, maybe sounding a little desperate to find a better reasoning for the feeling I thought we were both sharing today. </p><p>"Nah, that's it! Now, can we er, uh draw stuff already? I gotta tell ya' though, I can draw a damn good stick figure."</p><p>
  <em>Does he only see me as a way towards an easy grade...?</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't have a clearcut plan when it comes to this fanfic so bear with me if I get stuck at some point. Also how the heck does Ao3 work? Honestly, it was nervewracking to see how much y'all liked the first part, legit, so thank you for the support! I might keep this specifically in Van Gogh's perspective because honestly, how do you write a himbo with two brain cells? Anyways, if you got any kind of criticism, please comment, I appreciate y'all.</p><p>I'm not sure, but if you're interested in some art as well, I just started posting Clone High on my Insta @Link.oc.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Reminder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yes, JFK can be a bit of a dumbass but... perhaps Van Gogh can forgive that.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know I took around 2 weeks to finish this up, I was well aware with my procrastinating ass! Regardless, here it is! There is subtle sad shit, the usual stuff when it comes to Van Gogh but I didn't feel completely sure of myself if I wanted to add pure angst to the version I'm writing, also throwing in a neglectful parent into the mix. Hope y'all enjoy and please don't be shy about commenting on any complaints or general support~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>- JFK -</em> </strong>
</p><p>"Nah, that's it! Now, can we er, uh draw stuff already? I gotta tell ya' though, I can draw a damn good stick figure." I thought Vinnie might be impressed but instead, he kinda just frowned... but why? He always seems pretty gloomy too, since I haven't really seen a smile on his face yet either. Before I could ask him, Joan slides in, sitting down in the booth across. She huffs loudly, probably in one of her moods again as always, before taking a couple of fries. "Hey uh, ya' selfish broad! I paid for those, give them back."</p><p>"Fuck off JFK, I really don't- shit, sorry Van Gogh. I didn't see you there..." Joan apologizes immediately. <em>Huh, I didn't think the two actually knew each other.</em> </p><p>"It's alright, I wasn't planning on eating much anyway. I'm guessing you're a little frustrated because of you-know-who again?"</p><p>"Yeah... I don't know how you deal with it and still not get all pissed off about it."</p><p>"What are the two of ya' talking about?" I butt into the conversation, wanting to know more but Joan shoves me out. </p><p>"None of your business, JFK. Shut it and eat your stupid fries." She pauses, her brows furrowing as she looks at both Vinnie and I. "Actually, this is a bit of a surprise though... seeing you two together like this. I mean, I heard JFK ranting about coming after school but I assume he invited you?</p><p>Vinnie hides behind his large sketchbook, sinking in his seat. His face turns a slight red as he nods in response. </p><p>I smile and hook an arm around his shoulder. "Yeah, so what? I'm planning on getting an uh, A in art class and Vinnie is gonna help me, ain't that right?"</p><p>"Good choice, Van Gogh here is a natural. You should see some of the work Principal Scudworth has hanging around the school. He's just as skilled as his original." She smirks, sending a knowing glance towards the small artist. </p><p>"Well then, let me show ya' two that I'm practically on the uh, same level. That stupid teacher is just blind." I snatch Vinnie's sketchbook from his hands and start flipping to a blank page. Most of the pages are filled, bright colors splashing here and there. Some were sketched out with rough scribbles but every single one stuck out to me. "Jesus, the broad wasn't kidding. What are ya' so shy for?"</p><p>"W-Wait, JFK!"</p><p>"Dude, give it back to him."</p><p>I ignore the two pleadings as I pick up a pencil. I'm about to draw one of my well-praised stick figures when I stop on one page in particular. Nearly filling up the whole page, the drawings... they look like me, a very striking resemblance in fact. <em>Damn, this Vinnie guy is impressive as fuck, really getting my good side in these. When did he get the time to draw this? </em></p><p>I hold it up, pointing at the page. "Hey, mind explaining all this? It er, looks amazing. Uh... Vinnie?"</p><p>As I look back, the short artist looks fuming with rage. I flinch away as he pries the sketchbook out of my hands. </p><p>"Uh pal, what's wrong?"</p><p>He lashes out quickly, snapping at my words. "I'm not your <em>pal</em>, alright? Don't call me that, now let me through! I can't be h-here right now." I stand up to get out of the booth, letting him shove me aside. I don't do anything to stop him. Before leaving, Vinnie tears the page I saw and crumbles it up to throw it in the trash. He leaves the diner with a slam of a door. </p><p>Joan smacks me upside the head. "JFK, you fucking idiot. Why the hell did you look through his sketchbook?"</p><p>"I didn't know-"</p><p>"of course you don't and I bet you don't understand what you did wrong. I know you always have to prove yourself but that kind of thing is sacred."</p><p>
  <em>Screw the tutoring shit... I think I fucked up a bit, definitely wasted his time if I was just gonna end up being dumb fuck.</em>
</p><p>Joan continues to scold me but I walk past her, heading towards the trash can. I will myself to stick my hand inside, grabbing for the crumbled page. Thankfully, nothing else was thrown inside after Vinnie stormed out.</p><p>It's relatively clean but still, it's ruined already. I should have stopped him or something. <em>S</em><em>hit...</em> even I wouldn't like it if some dude decided to snatch one of my recordings, especially if it wasn't ready to be listened to. The poor guy practically had that sketchbook by his side at all times, and I just yanked it from him. We hardly even know each other and I was butting into his privacy.</p><p>Yeah, I know I gotta make it up to him.</p><p>"Can ya' help me out 'ere?"</p><p>Joan huffs, obviously annoyed but understands. She sets the page on the table and begins to flatten it as best as she could, being gentle so the markings don't smudge along with it. </p><p>Even so, it hardly made much of a difference as she tries...</p><p>"Hm... Hey, Joan. You gotta uh, pen in hand?"</p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>- Van Gogh - </em> </strong>
</p><p>My eyes sting as I use my sleeve, rubbing them dry. At the moment, I'm sitting in the parking lot of the diner, unsure if I should even leave yet. It's getting chilly as I pull the collar of my jacket to cover my face.</p><p>What was I thinking, causing another scene like that? I should have tried harder, yet of course, I was distracted by how genuine JFK's enthusiasm was. He does seem to want to be able to learn how to draw but taking my sketchbook? Looking through and seeing the only drawings that were of him? God, it's like gifting me something amazing and messing it all up just because of some dumb bad luck. It was exactly that because I had to bring the <em>one</em> sketchbook that would become an embarrassment to me. </p><p>My face heats up, tearing up as I choke out a sob. <em>What's wrong with me? </em>JFK must have thought that it was so weird. Nobody just casually dedicates a whole page like that without having some assumptions as to why. Either way, I felt terrible, ripping it out, but I only acted in the spur of the moment.</p><p>The next minutes are quiet, except for the occasional car driving by. The cool air helps as I try my best to calm down, keeping my breathing steady. The moment is interrupted though as I jump in surprise. My phone rings loudly, buzzing in my pocket as I take it out. Someone is calling me. I muster the courage to answer and I speak, fumbling on my words. "H-Hello?" </p><p>"Are you coming home soon? It's getting pretty late right now and I needed to call to tell you I'm not going to be at the house tonight." <em>Oh, my foster parent.</em></p><p>"Yeah, it'll be alright. I was planning on walking right now anyway. I was just hanging out with Joan and-" I sigh heavily. "I'm coming, so no worries." I hang up before I would be questioned on anything more, at least I'll have the house to myself for the night. <em>Fun.</em></p><p>The door of the diner opens as JFK comes out. I stand up, stiffening as I watch him, dreading whatever he's going to do next.  He approaches with caution, almost looking nervous, in fact? "Hey uh, Vinnie. You forgot your backpack in the diner. Joan offered but I wanted to hand it to you myself." He holds it up and I hesitantly grab it back, slinging it over my shoulder. I mumble a small thank you in return, still unsure.  </p><p>He rubs the back of his neck, glancing off to the side as he continues on. "Look, I don't usually say this often but I was being a real jerk in there. I just wanna say that uh, I'm sorry for taking what wasn't mine."</p><p>I nod, ready to leave, but he stops me, grabbing the strap of my bag. "Ah, wait! Also that sketchbook of yours? Don't ruin- er, keep it safe, okay? You really got a heck of a talent with those drawings and I rather not be the uh, jackass who fucks it up for ya'. So, are we cool?"</p><p>"I might need some time to think about it..."</p><p>"Good... See ya' Monday then?"</p><p>"I guess so."</p><p>I shoot a small reassuring smile his way before heading on my way home. In truth, maybe this has probably been the most eventful moment my week has been. Not how I would have pictured it but he didn't really mention the contents of my sketchbook so perhaps, he didn't mind it? Well, judging from his behavior, he seemed more awkward than I usually am... I really wanted to ask but I think it's best not to know what he actually thought about the drawings, that they were drawn quite recently during the shared classes we have together along with cross country. Yeah, not sure if that would be a great way to continue on a conversation. </p><p>I'm at least feeling a little better, despite the small confrontation.</p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>Once home, I check the kitchen. My foster parent won't be here, which isn't anything new. It's rather been a regular thing since elementary, saying they needed the break of being a "parent". So what if it just happens that they need a break the majority of the time? It's not something I mind all that much, less noise around the house is quite a benefit for when I get into the mood for painting. </p><p>On the kitchen counter is a note, to which it reads: '<em>No dinner tonight, sorry</em>', and accompanying the scraggly handwriting is a small heart... As if it makes me feel any better. Making sure, I check the fridge. <em>Empty.</em></p><p>Sighing, I close it and head straight upstairs to my room. I leave the lights off, seeing how the room is already dimly lit by the bright street lights from the outside. Standing in front of the large mirror to the side of my bed, I slip off my head bandage. I lightly touch the left side of my ear, still swollen but on it's way to healing. It's... not something I'm particularly proud of, nearly severing it off completely during a fearful panicking moment. I didn't understand what lead me to do it and I still don't. It almost seemed instinctual at the time when I held the blade, but unlike the original Van Gogh, I didn't cut all the way through. I'd rather not look at it for too long though and I continue to change the bandaging. After I finish up, I sit down on the edge of my bed.</p><p>I would usually stay up for hours into the night since it's the weekend but unfortunately, I'm not in the greatest of moods to draw right now, especially after today. Sleep isn't much of an option either as my stomach growls loudly, making me wince in pain. <em>R-Right, no dinner and not even a bite at the Grassy Knoll. I was too busy in thought.</em></p><p>Well, there has to be something. Glancing around my room, my eyes begin to focus on the desk from across. Sitting unopen is a packet of paint tube containers. I bought them a couple of days ago but I haven't had the chance to use them at all because of the usual school work. A sudden dull itch burns my throat, resisting the urge... <em>Yellow has always been a favorite of mine. </em></p><p>As I head over to the desk, my backpack slips off of my shoulder. As it hits the floor, my books and journals tumble out, knocking me out of focus.</p><p>I kneel to pick up the items. "Goddamn it, I really need a new bag-"</p><p>
  <em>Oh? I don't remember putting this in here...</em>
</p><p>Picking up the crinkled takeout bag, I notice the logo of the diner. I open it to see one of the burgers that JFK ordered... Inside is a pink sticky note. I know that Joan's the one who would own some in hand but I'm surprised to see JFK's more neat handwriting instead, stating: <em>Again, sorry for being a big jackass. Told ya' I'd pay for you. Hope ya' enjoy my best attempt at apologizing! </em>and right next to it is a poorly drawn scribble of himself, smiling happily. Holding the burger in my hands, I don't think I ever felt this amazed over seeing some measly junk food before... The urge from before fades away as I shove the paint containers off of the desk, a few busting open from the impact but I could care less. I could always clean up later.</p><p>I set the sticky note on my wall, rereading it over and over again as I take a bite of the delicious burger, while also taking a sec to wipe away my tears. <em>I can't wait until Monday.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: To be perfectly honest, I don't expect much out of this seeing how this is probably the first fan fiction I've written since 2014. Not the proudest of it but I've definitely been improving my writing in general over the years. Anyways I hope y'all enjoyed it because jock himbo x anxious artist sounds like the best shipping I've heard. I feel like everything is a bit ooc though but Van Gogh seems a more pessimistic, sometimes annoyed kind of guy to me, rather than being flustered by everything. He's a short gremlin child, for crying out loud! Anyways, I accept all constructive criticism here so please, if you have the chance, comment and send kudos.</p><p>Of course there's going to be a continuation, just don't know when though...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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